


The Face of Things to Come

by DoctorSnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous Relationships, Crack Relationships, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4420709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSnow/pseuds/DoctorSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As part of a peace agreement between the Starks and the Lannisters, Arya Stark is sent to be fostered at Casterly Rock. While at the Rock, Arya develops a close bond with Lord Tywin's youngest son, Tyrion Lannister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The News

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an Arya/Tyrion fic. Two of the best characters in the asoiaf universe. God knows there aren't many of these. I don't know where I'm taking this. 
> 
> All characters owned by GRRM.
> 
> Title is from Illumine by Karnivool.

He let out a soft sigh as he pulled out of her, spilling his seed on her belly.

“My, you have a great appetite, milord.” The wench said lazily, going to the basin to clean up.

“My brother never thought so. That was probably why he kept chucking food at me during supper.” He said, chuckling. “I mean, look at me! How much can a man of my stature possibly eat?”

“All this talk of eating, milord.” She said, drying herself, looking somewhat cleaner.

He shook his head. _Whores._ “Who the hell asked you to clean yourself up, then?”

She grinned at him stupidly as he laid her down on the bed and prepared to take her again.

Just then, the door opened with a disturbingly loud creak. Arya stood at the door in her northern gown, smirking.

“Would you like me to hang my breeches on the door next time?” he groaned, pushing the wench aside and pulling up his breeches. “Why do you think rooms have doors?”

“Why do you think doors have bolts?” she asked, still smirking.

“Fair enough.” He conceded, pulling out two gold dragons and giving it to the wench. “Go on. The lady has ruined my appetite.”

“I’m not a lady!” she said hotly as the wench scurried out of the room.

“Father seems to think you are.” He said, pouring himself a glass of Dornish red and taking a generous swig. “Why else would he make you wear _that_?”

She showed him the fig. “This is what I think of your father.”

He snorted in laughter, spraying wine all over her dress. “Oh! Don’t let him catch you doing that. He’s only just started warming up to you.”

Disdainfully, she looked at him and then at her ruined dress. “Of all the days you could have done that…”

Tyrion sat down, stretching his legs. In the eight years that he’d known Arya Stark, she had grown from a wild little child to an attractive young woman, even though sometimes she still acted like the willful girl of seven she was when he’d first met her. He doubted she ever looked herself in the mirror. She wore a dress today, yes, but a crow could nestle in that matted heap on top of her head. If Father ever decided to send her back to the Starks, he would sorely miss her. At the very least, it was nice having one person who shared his sense of humor.

She settled down next to him, snatching the wine glass from his hand and taking a swig herself. She then spat out most of it, spluttering.

He patted her back, laughing. “Fifteen is too old for your first time. I started at thirteen.”

She sighed, wiping her face on the sleeve of her dress. “I’m too old for a lot of things.”

He cocked his head. “Like marriage, you mean? No, you’re never too old for marriage. You’re just fifteen anyways. Do you even want to marry, though?”

She made a face to show what she thought of that. “I’m not stupid, you know.” She said casually.

“No?” he asked, smiling.

She ignored that. “He probably plans to marry me off to you. Forge an alliance between the Starks and the Lannisters.”

“But do you want that?” he asked her, straightening up.

“No!” she said, a little too loudly, giving him a jolt. “I’ve never wanted to be an accessory to political gain. But that’s all women can be in this thrice-damned country. That’s all my father allowed me to be.”

“So it’s not my height?” he teased, looking for a sheepish smile.

He got a pillow in the face for that. Keeping his wine glass aside, he picked up another pillow, resuming their fight from a few days back while the door opened again, creaking heavily.

Father stood in the doorway, a foul look on his face. Dropping the pillow, he eased himself down, standing in the least embarrassing way possible. Arya stood next to him, staring at Father uncomfortably.

“Jon Arryn is dead.”

He couldn’t say he was surprised. The man was old, really old. It was bound to happen sometime.

“You ride for King’s Landing at first light. Both of you. From there, you will join the king and his family to ride for Winterfell.”

“Winterfell?” he asked, though he was sure he knew why. Arya stirred next to him. “Why Winterfell?”

Lord Tywin Lannister gave an ugly frown, looking straight at Arya. “You’re going home. That, and the King has decided to name Ned Stark as his new Hand.” He said, briskly walking out the way he came.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun shone brightly upon them as the towers and turrets of the Red Keep loomed in the distance.

 _King’s Landing_ , she thought, as she rode ahead of the column. Although there wasn’t much to look forward to at King’s Landing, she did hope she got a chance to visit the Street of Steel before they left for Winterfell. She had been itching for a new blade and the smiths in Lannisport weren’t particularly extraordinary. Ser Damon, the master-of-arms at Casterly Rock, often told her that she was a natural. He had taught her the rudimentary slash-and-parry of sword fighting. When she had caught hold of that, they hired a Braavosi instructor named Syrio Forel to teach her the water dancing technique of Braavos. She had been learning under Syrio for nigh on three years now. It had taken a lot of convincing from her side for Lord Tywin to concede. _Well, that and some help from Tyrion_.

By the time they reached the city, the last rites for Lord Arryn had drawn to a close. They arrived at the Red Keep to find the royal family dressed in mourning. Jaime gave his brother a hug and greeted her with a twinkling smile. Queen Cersei pursed her lips and screwed up her nose when she saw her. King Robert looked at her like he’d seen a ghost. She didn’t understand why and she certainly didn’t like it. It made her feel uncomfortable. She wished she could tell him that, but she clearly couldn’t. It was only when she asked Jaime about it that she found out why. She apparently had a strong resemblance to her aunt Lyanna, her father’s sister and King Robert’s betrothed, who had lived and died before Arya was even born. Lyanna was said to be an exotic beauty with sharp features, a slender body and silvery grey eyes. _My eyes_. They said that King Robert fought the Targaryens for her. She asked Jaime if they could spar on the way to Winterfell. He just chuckled, ruffling her hair.

The last time she had been to King’s Landing was two years ago, for Joffrey’s fifteenth nameday. He looked like a squalling baby then, and he looked the same even now. His behavior had gotten worse. Tommen, the younger brother, was currently fostered at Winterfell, as part of the same agreement to foster her at the Rock. She felt bad for Myrcella, though. Myrcella was ever the lady, with her courtesies and manners. But none of that mattered to Joffrey.

Since they were of an age, they spent a lot of time together whenever they could. Myrcella visited the Rock quite often. She played with her at games of her choice. Myrcella also sparred with her using wooden swords sometimes; she was hopeless at it, though. She couldn't even hold her sword up for long. Arya knew the truth about the queen’s children. Tyrion had spoken to her about it once, when in his cups. It didn’t matter to her; apart from Tyrion, Myrcella was the closest thing she had to a friend.

“Are you excited, Arya?” Myrcella asked her in a soft voice as she pulled her into a hug. “You’re going to see your family again after eight years. I’m going to see Tommen after eight years.”

She returned the hug, deep in thought. _Eight years? Had it truly been that long?_


	2. On the Road

They sat in silence on the banks of the Trident.

“They say my father defeated Rhaegar Targaryen in battle here. Caved his breastplate in with his warhammer.”

Arya was lost in thought. She was still thinking about their impending arrival at Winterfell. She had been prepared for the possibility that she may never see her family again. When she had first arrived at the Rock, she had cried for days and days. Father had sent her there against her will, away from everyone she loved and cared about. In time, she had grown to like the Rock and had resigned herself to her fate. Casterly Rock was her home now. Soon enough, she would be married to Tyrion or one of Ser Kevan’s sons in order to cement the Stark-Lannister alliance. Little by little, her early years at Winterfell became distant memories in her mind. There wasn’t much she remembered from back then.

There were some things she remembered vividly. _Throwing snowballs at Sansa. Playing at swords with Bran. Jon mussing her hair._ She wondered how different they would be now. Eight years was a long time. _I might not recognize them_. _They might not recognize me._

“Arya?” Myrcella tapped her shoulder.

She turned to look at her. Myrcella looked intently at her with bright green eyes. Her golden curls swayed in the morning breeze.

“What?”

“I was asking you if we should head back.” Myrcella said, frowning. “You seem lost. What’s bothering you?”

She got up, grunting. “Memories.” She said, offering Myrcella her hand.

They slowly made their way back to camp, hand in hand.

“When am I going to see you again?” Myrcella asked her wistfully. “Once we leave you off at Winterfell, we’ll go back to the capital. You will come to see me again, won’t you?”

“You know I will.” Arya told her, holding her hand tight. _If my family allows me to._

“Tell me, of all your siblings, who were you closest with, growing up?”

“My half-brother, Jon Snow.” Jon was the one she would run to whenever she was sad or angry. He would always find a way to cheer her up. “And Bran.”

“I used to love spending time with Tommen.” She said longingly. “He was so little and innocent, even though he was just a year younger than me. I still don’t understand why he had to go. Couldn’t they have sent Joffrey instead? At least I would have had some good company all these years.”

Arya put an arm around her shoulders. “Well, you had me.”

Myrcella smiled, stopping in her tracks. There was a mischievous glint in her eye. “Just stand still. I’ve wanted to try this for a while.”

She leaned forward and kissed her.

Before she knew it, Arya was kissing her back. She had seen girls kissing before, but never like this. Her mouth tasted of oranges. Putting her arms around the smaller girl’s hips, she lifted her up, forcing her against a tree. Their lips were interlocked as Myrcella wrapped her legs around her body. She shut her eyes, just taking in the moment. The leaves were caressing her cheeks, tickling her as they kissed. Myrcella’s nose rubbed against her own. She could hear the gushing of the Trident as she slowly sunk to the ground, gently placing Myrcella on the grass. Running her fingers through her matted brown hair, Myrcella broke the kiss, lying on her back, breathing heavily. Her face was flushed.

“That was more enjoyable than I thought it would be.” She said, excitedly. “What do people usually do next?”

Arya laughed, twirling her golden hair. “Let’s go back and find the others. We don’t want them to find us.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You want to fuck her, don’t you?” Jaime asked him, all whites flashing as he climbed up on his horse.

“Fuck…who…what are you talking about?” Tyrion was lost.

“The Stark girl.” Jaime said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Have you lost your mind?” Tyrion snapped. “She’s just a child, you fool. She’s practically Myrcella’s age.”

Jaime conceded, nodding. “Yes, she is still a child. But you _do_ want to fuck her. I saw you make eyes at her all morning.”

 _No, I wasn’t_. “Are you sure you have nothing else to do? Besides accusing me of wanting to fuck a child, I mean?”

“You’re probably disappointed Father is sending her off.” Jaime said, chuckling. “You must have had elaborate plans for her after your marriage.”

That angered him. “Which marriage would you be talking about, brother mine? The same one where I married a pretty girl who turned out to be a whore? But you already know that, don’t you? You were the one who arranged it, remember?”

That wiped the smile off his face. He was silent, guilt clear on his features as he rode ahead, leaving Tyrion behind. _Damn it. He was just joking._

 

* * *

 

 

The walls and towers of Winterfell loomed ahead, growing larger as they drew closer. Arya didn’t remember being so nervous in a long while. She was finally meeting her family after eight years. She knew she should feel happy about it, but all she felt was a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She remembered the day she left all too well. Her father was dead set on her leaving for Casterly Rock. She clung to her mother’s skirts, weeping, pleading with her to convince Father otherwise. Her mother was weeping too, but she didn’t try to change Lord Stark’s mind. Her brothers and Sansa had all gathered in the yard to see her off. She couldn’t see Jon anywhere. When she asked her mother if she could go see Jon before she left, her features hardened. She then gave Arya a firm hug and asked Father to take her. Bran, only five at the time, was sobbing into Arya’s shoulder, holding her tightly as she tried her best to comfort him. Baby Rickon, only two years old, didn’t understand a thing of what was happening. Robb smiled at her and ruffled her hair, holding back tears. When Sansa came to hug her, she ran off, climbing upon her horse and wiping her tears. _That must have hurt her_ , she thought wistfully.

When she finally rode out with Stark soldiers escorting her, she saw a small figure in the distance. Jon had been waiting for her outside the gates to bid her goodbye. He mussed her hair like he always did, giving her a cloak made out of wolfskin to keep her warm for the journey ahead.

She clutched at her cloak, covering herself. It was getting colder. Thankfully, the cloak had stood the test of time. She had made sure of that.

_I’m coming, Jon._


	3. Back Home

She rode into the courtyard with the rest of the guards. Winterfell was just as she remembered it. This used to be her home, a long time ago, but she still felt like a stranger here. She suddenly found herself missing the warm confines of Casterly Rock and the Sunset Sea. If she could, she would have made a run for it.

Her father stood with many other people at the center of the courtyard to welcome them. He looked older and tired; like he had pushed himself too far. Her lady mother looked just as beautiful and graceful as she did eight years ago. The others she could barely recognize. The king led her towards them, clasping her firmly by the shoulder.

Robb stood next to Father, tall and proud, with auburn hair and stubble. Sansa stood next to him, nearly as tall. She had taken on her mother’s beauty, it seemed. Bran – _was that Bran?_ He had grown so much. _He must be taller than me by now_. Baby Rickon wasn’t a baby anymore, it seemed. He stood next to Mother, looking apprehensively at the whole entourage. Tommen stood next to Bran, golden hair and all.

The king went forward and embraced Father. “Look, Ned! I told you I would bring her back!” He said, pushing her towards him. She didn’t know what to do. So she knelt at her father’s feet, her eyes on the ground.

“Lord Stark.” She said, ears reddening.

She felt strong arms pull her up as her father pulled her into a tight embrace. “Arya! What are you doing?” He withdrew from the hug to look her over. His grey eyes were filled with joy and pain at the same time. “You’ve got bigger.” He said, smiling wearily. Before she could respond, she was again enveloped in a bone-crushing hug by her mother. “What have you done with your hair, Arya?” she said, eyes glistening. She went on to greet her brothers and Sansa too, but her eyes were scanning the crowd for Jon all the while. She couldn’t seem to find him anywhere.

She finally spotted him. He stood between Maester Luwin and Hodor, grinning stupidly. He was taller and had grown his hair out, but apart from that, he looked the same. If anything, he looked more like Father. She ran to him, pushing someone out of the way and jumping into his arms. “I missed you so much! Why did you never write, you stupid?” she cried into his tunic as he held her tight. Everyone was probably staring at her. But she didn’t care. She was home. Nobody could say otherwise. It was only when her feet touched the ground that she released Jon from the hug. He looked at her, beaming.

“I missed you too, little sister. You’ve grown taller. And heavier.” He added with a chuckle, mussing her hair as she punched him in the arm.

Bran grabbed her arm, pulling her. “Come with me, Arya. There’s someone waiting for you.”

She sighed. “I’m tired, Bran. Can we go later?”

“No! You have to come now.” Bran said, half-dragging her away from the crowd and towards the kennels.

He went into one of the kennels and brought out a grey little wolf pup in his arms. “She’s yours.” He held the pup out for her. She let out a soft whine as Arya took her in her arms. “They’re direwolves. We found them a few weeks ago – six of them. One for each of us. Mine’s inside.” She had gleaming yellow eyes, just like two golden coins.

“What are you going to name her?” he asked her excitedly.

She looked at the little pup intently, remembering Maester Kenneth’s stories about the legendary queen who led her people across the Narrow Sea.

“Nymeria. I’m going to name her Nymeria.”

 

* * *

 

 

There was a great feast organized in the king’s honor that evening. She sat between Sansa and Bran at the high table, supping on roasted boar and honeyed chicken. The Great Hall was huge, though not nearly as large as the halls at Casterly Rock. Servants bustled about, serving water and wine throughout the hall. King Robert sat at the center of the table, red from drink and laughter, pounding her father on the back every other minute. The queen sat next to her lady mother, all fake smiles. Joffrey sat smugly, looking around the hall with an air of contempt. Tommen and Myrcella were busy chatting away. Tyrion was nowhere to be seen.

Feeling constricted, she excused herself and made her way out of the hall into the courtyard. She saw Jon near the stables, beating the life out of a dummy with his tourney sword. What was he doing out there when everyone was at the feast?

“Too overwhelming?” A voice came from above her. “Or were you just looking for me?”

She craned her neck. Tyrion sat on the ledge above the doors to the hall, drinking.

“What are you doing up there?” she called.

“Preparing for a night with your family.” He said as he struggled to stand up, clearly in his cups.

“Need a hand?” she asked. “It’s a long fall.”

With surprising agility, he jumped from the ledge, tumbling gracefully as he landed on his knees.

“Come on.” She said, pulling him up. “I see Jon. I’ll introduce you.”

Jon looked up from his practicing as she called to him. His face lit up as they walked towards the stables. If he was in a bad mood, his face showed no sign of it.

“Why aren’t you at the feast?” he asked her.

“Too many people.” She said nonchalantly. “Why aren’t you?”

He looked uneasily from her to Tyrion. “You’re the queen’s brother.”

Tyrion extended a hand. “My single greatest achievement. People also call me the Imp.” He said, chuckling. “And you. You’re Ned Stark’s bastard, aren’t you?”

His face fell at that. He went back to his dummy, grinding his teeth. She elbowed Tyrion. “He’s my brother, stupid. Be nice.” She went to Jon. “I’m sorry, Jon. He talks stupid when he’s drunk.”

“Sorry if I offended you.” Tyrion piped in, taking a long sip of wine. “But you are the bastard, though.”

“Don’t call him that!” Arya yelled, angry now.

Jon turned around. “Aye, I am. And you’re a dwarf. So what’s your point?”

Arya looked at both of them incredulously. _No. They’re supposed to be getting along._ “Stop calling each other names! You’re not children.”

Tyrion started laughing.  “Let me give you some advice, bastard. Never forget who you are. The world certainly won’t. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you.” He said, heading towards the Great Hall.

“The hell do you know about being a bastard?” Jon called after him.

Tyrion spun around, his features twisting into an ugly smile. “All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.” He said, mismatched eyes fixed on Jon as he turned and headed off, whistling a tune.

Jon looked at her. “Is he always like this?”

She sighed. _Not always. Not with me, anyways._


	4. The Godswood

The trees closed in around them as they made their way deeper into the godswood.

“Are you sure you know where we’re going?” Tyrion asked. “If you’ve forgotten where it is, there’s no shame in admitting it, you know. I know it’s been long.”

“Shut up and follow me. I know where we’re going.”

The king and Lord Stark had gone hunting in the wolfswood, along with fifty others. Jaime had opted out from the hunt, feigning a bad stomach, but Tyrion knew what that meant. Since he would only prove to be a hindrance to the others, he had retired to his chambers with a flagon of the best wine the cellars of Winterfell could provide. Before he could settle down however, Arya dragged him out to show him around the castle. They had been walking around for quite a while and he could just about use some rest.

She fidgeted in her dress. Tyrion smiled to himself. It would appear that being at home still didn’t give her the freedom to dress as she would. _Well, at least she got a pet wolf_. Even though the sun was up, the godswood was dark and imposing. It seemed like there was a ghostly aura to the trees as the leaves rustled, like they were whispering to each other. _Like they had a mind of their own_. He wondered about the kinds of memories the woods held. Good memories? Bad memories? _Both, probably_.

The heart tree of Winterfell, an enormous weirwood, stood at the center of the godswood as if frozen in time. The trees around it had grown and withered and grown again over the years, but the weirwood had remained for thousands of years. There was a face carved into the trunk, with red sap around the eyes that made it look like it was weeping. Tyrion marveled at the size of the tree. It had been growing over the years, branches covering a wide expanse, almost like a hood. It was possibly growing still. Red leaves were strewn on the floor of the godswood. A small pool sat by the foot of the tree, with water black as night.

Leaning against the tree, Arya sat down with a grunt. He sat next to her.

“My father would come here every time after he carried out a sentence.” She said. “He would sit right here and clean his sword. I bet he still does it now.”

“No executions lined up today, right?” he asked her teasingly.

She chuckled, her face lighting up if only for a moment. “It’s not the same.”

“What’s not?”

“Winterfell. My family. Everyone is all smiles, pretending that nothing ever happened.”

That slightly pricked him. “What did happen, Arya? Yes, granted that you were sent to the Rock against your wishes. But it’s not like you were mistreated there. If I recall correctly, you actually liked it there.”

Arya sat up, confused. “That’s not what I meant, Tyrion. I wasn’t given the chance to live and grow up among my family. How am I supposed to talk to them? I’ve hardly had any meaningful interaction with any of them since I arrived. All Sansa talks about is boys and dresses. I mean, how could anyone in their right mind actually be happy about marrying Joffrey? Rickon runs away whenever I go to him. Mother is already talking about grooming me for marriage. How am I supposed to feel about them sending me away and then acting like everything’s normal once I’m back?”

Tyrion shrugged. _I’m not too good at this stuff_. “Look, what happened, happened eight years ago. Best to leave it in the past. It doesn’t do good to dwell on such things. It’ll hamper any possible chance of a strong relationship you could have with your family. All you can do now is thank the gods you’ve been reunited with them. You had given up any hope of ever seeing them again. Now cherish the time you have with them. Be a child again.” _While you still can_.

She sighed. “I don’t hate them. I just feel like things have changed too fast. Like I’m a stranger in my own house.”

Tyrion reached over to hold her hand. “Whatever they do, however they may be, they’re still your family. The only one you’ll ever have. Until you’re married, of course.” He added, as she screwed up her face in disgust. “On a more serious note,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I’ve hated my father and my sister my entire life. They tried their level best to make my life a living hell. And they succeeded, to an extent. But if they’re ever in dire need of my help, would I abandon them? No. If there’s one thing life has taught me, it’s that you never turn your back on family.”

Her features softened. She put her arms around him in a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you. Are you sure you can’t stay a few more days?”

He thought for a moment before he answered. “Well, I don’t have any pressing obligations at the moment. So I guess I could stay for a while.”

She giggled, hugging him tighter. He patted her arm. “Okay, you can let go of me now. Arya.”

“ARYA!”

She recoiled. The elder sister walked hurriedly towards them, cheeks streaked with tears. She looked from Arya to him, resting her eyes on him for a moment. “We were looking all over for you!” She spat, turning back to look at Arya.

“I was right here, Sansa. What happened? Why are you crying?” Arya asked, getting up.

Sansa stammered. “B-B-Bran. He – he fell.”


	5. Farewells

Lord Stark looked up as she walked into his chamber, a wan smile on his face.

“Take care of your mother, Arya. She could use some help.” He said, clasping her shoulder. “And don’t let her stay in Bran’s room for too long. Keep her occupied. Take her out for walks and sew with her. Bran will live. Maester Luwin has assured me that the worst has passed. It might be a matter of days or weeks before he wakes up. But he will. So try to keep her happy, the best you can.”

“I will, Father.” She said earnestly. “Safe travels. I hope to see you soon.”

“So do I.” he said, kissing her on the head.

Sansa kissed her on the cheeks. “I feel bad about leaving you so soon.” She said, eyes glistening. “I only just got you back.”

“It’s all right.” Arya said, rubbing her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll come visit you there sometime.”

“I’d like that.” She smiled. “Arya, can I ask you something?”

She sighed. “You want to know if there’s something between me and Tyrion.”

“Well, is there?”

Arya made a face. “Gods, no! I’ve lived with him for eight years. He’s like family to me.”

Sansa looked relieved. “And he’s a dwarf. With a rather large appetite for whores, they say.”

Arya shook her head in disbelief. It was just like Sansa to go ahead and say something like that. Her sister may have changed in many respects, but in some ways she remained the same.

“Myrcella will be with you there at King’s Landing. You’d like her.” She said, playing with Sansa’s auburn locks. “Don’t get on Joffrey’s bad side. Smile and curtsy and do what you do best. Don’t get too close. And don’t spend too much time with the queen.”

Sansa looked confused. “What do you mean, Arya? I’m supposed to be marrying him. We will be close. And what do you mean by bad side?”

“You don’t want to know.” She said, her mind travelling back to the time she visited King’s Landing last, on Joffrey’s fifteenth nameday. She was looking for Myrcella, walking around the hallways of Maegor’s Holdfast when she came upon Joffrey trying to force himself on her. It would seem that he had taken on some personality traits of his parents. She had been there to save Myrcella that day. She also gave Joffrey a case of sore balls and a head wound to boot, though the queen never so much as laid a finger on him when she found out about it. Instead, Arya got slapped and had to apologize to that prick. The queen probably didn't believe her _golden son_  capable of something so heinous. “Just watch out for yourself. Stay close to Father.”

“Don’t be absurd, Arya. What could possibly happen?”

 

* * *

 

 

She knocked.

“It’s open.” Myrcella called from inside. “Come in.”

She pushed the door open. Myrcella was packing. Her trunk lay open in the corner of the room. Piles of clothes were neatly folded up and stacked on her bed.

“Oh, Arya. I was just thinking of coming to your room. Do you know when we leave tomorrow?” she asked.

“Your father said sunrise.” Arya replied. “But knowing the king, it’ll probably be noon before you leave.”

She laughed, coming close to hold her hands. “I wish I could stay longer. But you know Mother won’t let me. At least Jon and Uncle Tyrion are there to keep you company.”

“Yes.” She replied, feeling somewhat odd, probably because of her conversation with Sansa. “That they are.”

“I will see you tomorrow before I leave, won’t I?” she asked, lines of worry creasing her forehead.

“Of course you will, stupid.” She said, leaning to kiss her briefly on the lips. “Just – when you’re there at the city, with Sansa, take care of her. I have a bad feeling about her going to the capital. Protect her from Joffrey.”

“And why would she need to be protected?” a voice spoke from behind her.

She turned. Queen Cersei stood at the door, dressed in a gown as red as the wine in the goblet she held.

“Your Grace.” She bowed.

“Leave us.” She said in a tone full of loathing and derision.

As she made to leave, Myrcella spoke up. “Mother, why are you – “

“Quiet, Myrcella!” She looked at her daughter, fuming. “You will not presume to question my actions.”

Before Arya could exit through the doors, the queen called after her.

“Bring me more wine.” She said, giving Arya her goblet.

_Oh, I’ll bring you more wine. I’ll probably spit in it too.  
_

 

* * *

 

 

She lay awake in bed, fidgeting, when her door opened with a soft creak.

“Arya?” Jon’s whisper cut through the night silence.

She got up from the bed. “Jon. What is it?”

His dark silhouette was all she could see as she struggled to make out his features.

He lit a candle, picking up a cloth package he’d brought with him.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, Arya.” He said with a heavy voice. “I’m joining the Night’s Watch.”

She was perplexed. _No, not Jon too_. _Everyone’s leaving me tomorrow._ She had at least hoped Jon would stay. “Why? And why didn’t you tell me before?”

He sat down on the bed, motioning her to sit next to him.

“I only found out about it today. With Father leaving, your mother probably doesn’t want me around." He mussed her hair. "It’s all right. I don’t belong here anyways. I would have left by myself in time.”

She suddenly felt tears coming to her eyes. “You do belong here. With me. Please don’t go.”

He smiled. “I will see you again, little sister. I promise.” He showed her the package. “I brought something for you.”

“Is it a present?”

He opened the cloth cover, revealing the scabbard. He then drew the sword, thin as her thumb, a flash of silver against the candlelight. “I had the smith make it for you special.” He said, giving it to her hilt first.

“First lesson: stick them with the pointy end.” He said, grinning.

“I know which end to use.” She said scornfully.

“It’s a Braavosi sword.” She said, observing the blade, so light. “Only water dancers use such thin blades.”

“True. But how do you know that?” he asked, surprised.

“Because I’ve been learning water dancing for three years, stupid.”

His eyes widened. “You’ve been doing what?”

Realization then dawned upon her. She hadn’t even spoken to Jon about her swordplay. When she had been learning, she often thought of showing off her skills to Jon if she ever met him. But since she'd arrived, it had completely slipped from her mind. And now Jon was leaving.

Putting the sword down on her bed, she went to him and gave him a hug. “Thank you, Jon. It’s the best present I could ask for.” Truly, it was. She had wanted a new sword for so long.

He bent down to pick up the sword. “All the best swords have names, you know.”

She thought hard. “I can’t think of anything.”

“Think. It’s the one thing you’ve always hated.”

It suddenly clicked. “Needle! Like a sewing needle. I hated sewing.”

He laughed. “So you did.”

They stood in silence for a few minutes. “You learnt to fight at Casterly Rock?”

“Yes, stupid.” She rolled her eyes. “Now come! I want to show you what I learnt before you go.”


	6. Catspaw

“For the hundredth time, Arya, I am not leaving this room!” Lady Stark snapped at her.

She sighed in desperation. It had been days since Father and Sansa had left for the capital. That gave Mother all the more reason to stay put up in Bran’s room. All of them – Robb, Rickon, even Theon Greyjoy, Robb’s friend and their ward, had tried to get her out of there. But she remained obstinate. Mother’s hair was disheveled and her clothes were the same from a week ago. She hardly looked like the woman who had greeted her in the courtyard on her arrival. _This is the last straw_ , she told herself. But she still found herself trying to convince her.

“Mother, how long is it since you had a proper meal? Or even took a bath?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She said, looking at Bran’s body. He was breathing, but barely. His skin had sunken in, stretching over his bones. “He needs me.”

“Well, Bran’s not the only one who needs you. Robb needs you. Rickon needs you. I need you.”

Mother turned to look at her. Her piercing blue eyes gazed into her grey ones. “You’ve taken care of yourself all this while, Arya. You haven’t needed me in the last eight years.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong, Mother.” She shot back, her voice shaking. “I’ve always needed you. But you weren’t there. None of you were. One time in the last eight years, you could have come visit me. _One fucking time!_ ” She felt the blood rush to her head. Her mother stared at her in shock, the whites of her blue eyes red from lack of sleep. Her legs felt weak and queasy. She felt they might give way, but she persisted. “I didn’t ask to be shipped away to Casterly Rock. You and Father just sent me, without a care of how that would affect me. That’s all I am to you, isn’t it? A bargaining chip. You sent me off once to further your alliances. Once I’m of age, you’ll marry me off, again without my consent. And if you think that me needing a mother is the same as you having to be there to take care of me, I – I’m glad I was left all to myself.”

Feeling tears coming on, she turned and fled from the room.

Her mother called after her, but she didn’t turn. She rushed down the stairs and stumbled out into the courtyard, slipping and falling on her face. Wiping her tears on her muddy tunic, she got up immediately, running for the stables. Her heart was pounding. She needed to clear her head. Theon was leading his horse outside. Ignoring his greeting, she pushed him aside and climbed his horse, dashing out the open gates.

The evening breeze rushed to her face as she rode, Nymeria at her heels. She lowered her head, egging the horse on faster. Somehow she felt lighter, like a load was lifted off her chest. Another part of her was shocked at her own self. She hadn’t realized how much these feelings had affected her, how much they continued to affect her.  In her later years at the Rock, her resentment towards her parents still endured, but she had learnt to deal with it. Training in combat had helped a great deal in that. But she never thought herself capable of an outburst like that. That was something Sansa would have done. She had held it in for too long. It had been coming a long time. She wondered if she should apologize to her mother. Those were some harsh things she said back there. _Yes, they were harsh_. _But they were true_. All the same, Mother didn’t deserve to hear that. If anyone did, it was Father. He was the one who agreed to send her, after all.

She turned to look back at the castle. Amidst the darkness and the foliage, all she could make out was a tower light. No doubt they would have sent riders after her. She slowed her horse to a trot, eventually halting and alighting. She lay down with Nymeria on the grass by the side of the road, watching the evening stars while the horse sauntered about, pulling at shrubs. Nymeria nuzzled against her, licking her hand. _Gods, but they grow fast_.

Soon enough, Robb came galloping, torch in hand.

“What are you doing, Arya?” he said, bending down to look at her. He pulled out a cloth, wiping her muddy face as he sat down next to her. “You don’t know what prowls about the woods this time of night.”

“Nymeria wouldn’t have let anything happen to me.”

“Well, she’s still growing.” He said, fondly scratching Nymeria’s ears.

Sighing, she leaned on his shoulder. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

He ruffled her hair. It wasn’t the same with him as it was with Jon. She could talk about anything with Jon. But she hardly knew this man who was her brother. “Now why do you say that?”

“I am a Stark of Winterfell. In my heart, I will always be a Stark of Winterfell. But I feel like an outsider here. It’s as if I went into deep sleep and when I woke up, nothing was the same. Why did they have to send just me?”

“Did someone say something?” Robb looked concerned.

 _So he didn’t know what happened with Mother_. He’d probably just rushed when he heard of her riding out. “I did. To Mother.”

“Well, nothing that can’t be unsaid, I’m sure.” He said, getting up and offering her his hand. “Come on. The both of you can talk it through once you get back.”

She took his hand, pulling herself up. Her left foot buckled under her, sending a jolt of pain through her leg as she struggled to keep standing. “I think I’ve sprained my ankle.”

“Not to worry.” He said, putting an arm under her knees and lifting her up, carrying her to her horse.

 

* * *

 

 

The guards rushed to them with the news as soon they arrived. Robb asked them to escort her back to her chambers, but she followed him to Bran’s room anyways. Though she wasn’t prepared for what she saw there.

A man lay on the floor in a pool of blood, with his throat open. Several guards were in the room, with Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik. Robb sat next to her mother by Bran’s bed, her hands wrapped in white cloth, the smidge of red growing larger. Bran’s wolf sat at the foot of the bed, his mouth bloody from the kill he just made.

“Mother!” She went to her, in tears. “You’re hurt.”

“Shh, child.” She said, kissing her on the brow. “I’ll be fine.”

She turned to look at the corpse. “Who was he? Why did he try to kill Bran?”

Lady Catelyn pulled her close, holding her tight. “We have to find out.”


	7. Investigation

She woke up with a jerk.

The memories of that night were still a little hazy. She remembered yelling at her mother and then riding off. When Robb brought her back, she remembered seeing a dead body on the floor of Bran’s room. There was also a dagger being passed around. A rather familiar dagger. She couldn’t place where she had seen it, though. Yawning, she got up from the armchair. She was careful not to put too much pressure on her bad leg. Mother was nowhere in sight. She was probably still sleeping, poor thing. Bran slept peacefully on the bed, completely oblivious to the events which had taken place around him. _I’m glad you didn’t have to see that, little brother._  The maester said that he had lost the use of his legs, that he would be a cripple for the rest of his life. She looked at the spot where the assassin had lain. The rushes had been changed and the room had been cleaned up, but the stench of blood still remained. Good luck getting that out.

Her mind traveled back to the dagger. It was Valyrian steel, of that she was sure. The hilt was rather plain, as befitting a wayward cutthroat, but it was made of dragonbone. Now where would a man like that acquire such a distinctive blade? Valyrian steel wasn’t even made anymore. It must have been given to him, probably by someone with motive and means. But why had he been asked to kill Bran? Bran was a harmless child, who liked to climb and play at swords. Why would anyone want him dead?

The door opened with a creak, waking her up from her reverie. Mother stood at the door, giving her a weak smile.

“Come with me, Arya. There is something of import we should discuss.”

They walked towards the godswood.

“I want you to know one thing, Arya.” Mother said, putting an arm around her shoulder as they walked. “As far as I am concerned, I will never marry you off to anyone without your consent, be it even the crown prince.”

“But the crown prince is already betrothed to Sansa, Mother.” She said teasingly.

“That’s not my point.” She went on. “What you told me the other day – it has given me a lot to think about. And after what happened with Bran –" Her voice trailed off. “Anyhow, I won’t let your father arrange a marriage alliance for you, unless that is something you want. I have spent eight years without my little ragamuffin. I should have spoken against it or put my foot down. But I didn’t, because I was convinced that your father did what he did for the sake of peace. Look what that peace brought us. I’m not going to make that mistake a second time. I can’t afford to spend any more time apart from you now.”

Arya was genuinely touched by this. Growing up, the only way she remembered her was as a strict mother, who would always complain about her hair or chide her stitches along with Septa Mordane. Putting her arms around her mother, she kissed her cheek. “It appears we may grow old together, Mother.”

She laughed, her features lighting up. She had missed this sight for so many days, even though it came at the hardest of times.

When they arrived at the heart tree, she saw Robb, Theon, Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik already assembled. They had a grim look on their faces as they saw them approaching.

Mother spoke first. “I don’t think Bran fell from that tower. I think he was pushed.”

“The boy was always sure-footed. He’s never fallen before.” Maester Luwin replied in assent.

“But why would anyone want to murder a child?” Robb asked, voicing her thoughts.

“I think Bran knew something. Or he had probably seen something he shouldn’t have. I went by the broken tower yesterday, to the place where Bran fell. At the top of the tower, I found a long lock of golden hair. How many people do we know to have hair of that color?”

“The Lannisters.” Robb mouthed. “They come into our house, break bread with us and then stab us in the back?” He pulled out his sword. “If it’s war they want, we’ll give it to them.”

Ser Rodrik caught his arm. “Put down the sword, boy. Too soon do words of war become acts of war. We can’t afford to be hasty. We need to get down to the bottom of this matter. If it’s truly the Lannisters, then we need to find out the why of it.”

"There's something else." Lady Catelyn said, pulling out a roll of parchment. "My sister sent me a raven shortly after the arrival of the king's party. In her letter, she said that Jon Arryn was murdered. She also said that the Lannisters had a part to play in it."

“She was probably fucking her brother.” Arya thought out aloud.

All five of them turned to look at her.

“Watch your language, Arya!” her mother scolded her. “What do you mean? What brother?”

“Cersei Lannister. She often engages in intimate relations with her twin brother.”

Her mother put a hand to her mouth. Robb gasped in shock. Theon just smirked.

“Speak carefully, child.” Maester Luwin said. “It is treason to speak of such things. Where did you hear of this?”

“Tyrion told me.”

“He just told you?” Robb asked incredulously.

“Well, he was in his cups. And I probed him effectively.”

“So Bran came upon them while climbing the broken tower. The Kingslayer pushed him out the window. Is that what you think happened?” Robb asked her.

“It’s my best guess.” She said.

“My Lady, there is also the matter of the catspaw.” Maester Luwin said, producing the dagger, looking at Lady Catelyn. “Do you think they might have sent him to silence the boy? Since the fall wasn’t, um, fatal?”

“No, that can’t be right.” Arya said, suddenly remembering. She remembered where she had seen it. She was roaming around the Red Keep one afternoon with Myrcella, when they stumbled upon King Robert’s personal armory. The sheer amount and variety of weapons in there was a wonder to behold. Extremely skillful craftsmanship just rotting away, waiting for a drunk whoring king to wield them. “That blade belonged to King Robert. I remember seeing it at the capital.”

Maester Luwin spoke. “The king would never do such a thing. It would seem that the queen may have borrowed the blade. Call the Kingslayer what you want, but he would never hire a catspaw to do his killing for him.”

“What about the Imp?” Robb asked her.

“What about him?”

“Don’t you find it a little odd that he stayed back for days after the king’s entourage left? You did mention that he was the one who told you about the queen’s illicit activities. Do you think he could have hired the catspaw? To protect his siblings, maybe?”

“You leave Tyrion out of this, Robb. He would never do something like that.” She shot back, though she was filled with doubt. She remembered their conversation about family and duty the other day, right here. Could he have done this? No, it would be rather stupid to hire an assassin and then stick around in plain sight.

“Well, Arya, it is rather odd that he chose to stay back after his family had left. Why would he do that, if not for this?”

“He did it for me.” She said, breathing heavily. “He stayed back because I asked him to.”

“Right, because you asked him to.” Theon Greyjoy spoke for the first time, sniggering.

She strode to him, her face inches from his.

“If you’ve got something to say, speak up.”

He did seem a little intimidated by her confident stare, but that was soon replaced by his cocky grin.

“How do you even do it? I mean, do you have to bend –”

She slapped him.

She put all her strength, all her resentment, all her inner turmoil, all her misdirected anger behind that slap. He was thrown off balance, landing clumsily on the floor. Her hand was throbbing from the force of the impact.

“I ought to gut you for that!” she screamed at him.

Robb was on him in an instant. He grabbed him by his throat and forced him against the tree. She watched disdainfully as Theon struggled against his grip.

“You may be like a brother to me, Greyjoy. But speak that way to my sister and you’ll never speak again.”

“Robb, let him go!” Lady Catelyn shouted. Ser Rodrik forced them apart.

Lady Catelyn spoke. “I ought to lock you both in with the Imp! That ought to teach you to behave.”

That shocked her. “With the Imp? Mother, what are you saying? Tyrion didn’t do this. He wouldn’t. Please don’t tell me you’ve put him in a cell.”

Her mother sighed apologetically. “It’s happening as we speak. I’m sorry, Arya.”

She looked around at their faces. “If you’ve made your decision, then why did you even bother calling me here? Is that why you were being so nice in the morning? I hate you! All of you!”

Fuming, she hobbled back to the castle.


	8. The Cell

He was sleeping when his door burst open.

“Have I overstayed my welcome?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

He got no reply from them. Instead, they pointed their swords at him.

“Come quietly, Imp. The more you struggle, the worse it will be for you. Lady Stark is not pleased.”

 _Lady Stark sent them herself?_ Surely she didn’t hold him responsible for that assassin? “Look, my friends. There seems to be a misunderstanding. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’ll swear on it, if you like. I swear on my honor as a Lannister.”

They laughed at that. Of course they would.

“Look. Can you at least tell me why you’re apprehending me? What is it you think I did?”

“Lady Stark will fill you in on the details, Imp. Take him.”

Two guards carried him out of the room, each holding one arm. He joked about how they needed two people to carry one dwarf, but they didn’t seem to be in the mood for it. _Bloody Northmen_. Grim faces and a grim demeanor, completely devoid of a sense of humor. At least Arya wasn’t like them. Did she know about this? Where the hell was she? He hadn’t seen her all day yesterday. But that was probably because he was holed up at the brothel with Winterfell’s finest. There were more pressing matters at hand, however. Like how his arms might get ripped from their sockets if they kept carrying him like this any longer.

“Put me down, you dolts! I can walk. I’m a dwarf, not a cripple.”

The guards stared at him in a threatening manner. _I shouldn’t have said that. Oh, fuck me._

They threw him in a cell. It was dark, dank and depressing. Just the way he liked it. Now all he needed was a book, a candle and some wine. He wondered if he should ask them. The only light came in through a small barred window. It was too high for him, however. He looked around. The cell was equipped with a chamber pot. Thank the gods for that. He really needed to take a piss. A stone slab was set up at the corner of the room which would serve as a bed.  Well, at least this was cleaner than the cells at the Rock. 

Stretching himself on the stone slab, he closed his eyes.

 

* * *

   


The iron bars clanged as he stirred from his dreamless slumber.

“Rise and shine, Imp. You’ve got a visitor.”

The walkway was lit by a torch affixed on a sconce in front of his cell. Lady Catelyn stood behind the iron bars, a grim look on her face.

He sat up. “Forgive my manners, Lady Stark. I would stand, but why should I? How am I supposed to feel about this? Is this what passes for courtesy up in the North?”

“Oh, you have been granted every courtesy, Imp. And you repay that how? By coming to our home and trying to murder my son.” Her voice was stolid, but he could sense the anger underneath.

“Now slow down a bit. I didn’t try to kill anyone, leave alone a child. If you’re accusing me of murder, where’s your proof?”

She produced a dagger. “Here’s my proof. You stayed back after the king and queen left Winterfell so that you could finish the job your brother started.”

He looked at the dagger intently. _Valyrian steel_. “I’ve never seen that dagger before in my life. House Lannister doesn’t even own Valyrian steel anymore. My uncle Gerion will vouch for that, if they ever find him. And as for staying back, it was because your daughter requested me to. We’re quite close, you see.”

She nodded. “She told me that. She also told me that the queen has had unnatural relations with her brother. Where would she have heard that, I wonder?”

He clenched his fist. _I told her that in confidence_. “Do you have a fair idea of the strength of the Westerlands, my lady? No doubt, news of my arrest would be on its way to my father and the capital by now. Don’t look surprised. The spider has his spies everywhere, even at Winterfell. Don’t bother trying to find them, you never will. Once my father hears of this, he will summon his armies and ride for Winterfell.”

“Your armies have never set foot north of Moat Cailin all these years. Why would they come now?”

“Well, there’s always Riverrun. My father would certainly think of paying a visit to your maternal home.” He said, giving her the ugliest of smiles, taking solace in the turbulence in her perfect features.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, Imp. Did you or did you not have a hand in the attempted murder of my son?”

“NO!” He lost his composure. “What kind of person do you think I am? I know, my reputation for whoring and drinking and being abnormally short precedes me, but do you honestly think I would stoop so low as to murder a child? For what even, may I ask? To silence him? That could have been done with a flagon of Arbor gold.”

Her expression remained the same. “So you admit to knowing what caused the incident?”

 _Seven hells_. “My lady, the least you could do is send for a flagon of wine and a hot meal from your kitchens. I haven’t eaten all day. I’m starving.”

Lady Catelyn prepared to leave. “I will be back soon. And as for this war you talk about, if that is the cost of justice, then so be it.”

“You almost sound like your husband, my lady. Your daughter would agree with me in that.”

That elicited a reaction from her. She held the bars tightly, her knuckles white, her eyes flaring.

“Don’t you dare talk about my daughter, Imp! The gods alone know what you have poisoned her mind with all these years. What kind of tales you would have spun to turn her against us.”

“Nothing but the truth, my lady.” He eased himself into a standing position, giving her a short bow as she walked away, her skirts flapping around her feet.

_There goes my supper, then._


	9. The Conversation

She sat sullenly, watching Bran’s chest rise and fall as he slept, his direwolf at his feet.

She had tried to convince her mother to let her meet him, but her mother wouldn’t budge. _This is all my fault._ _I should never have asked him to stay_. She didn’t doubt that the queen was more than capable of sending a catspaw to murder her little brother. But her mind kept going back to what Tyrion said the other day. _You never turn your back on family_. She didn’t regret spilling the beans on the queen and her brother, though she wondered whether she’d made a mistake by involving Tyrion in it. _Or was he already involved?_ He kept a few secrets from her, she knew that. He, for one, never spoke to her of what happened to him at thirteen. Everyone kept secrets. _Let’s leave it at that._

All the same, she would have to speak to him to know the truth. There was no way he could have done this, but she needed to know for sure. There was still doubt in her mind. They would have to speak soon. Lady Catelyn was speaking of arranging a trial to determine the truth, though she doubted it would be an actual trial. They would find him guilty in the end, and probably execute him. She feared the implications of that. It had already started happening. They received word from the capital that Jaime Lannister had attacked Father in the streets of King’s Landing. Father was gravely injured, from what they heard. She had also heard Robb saying that Tywin Lannister was marching on Riverrun, and that they would have to leave soon.

She looked out the window. The sun was down. Darkness had crept over Winterfell. She got up, draping her cloak over her shoulders. Mother was probably in her chambers or with Rickon. Her leg had gotten much better. At least her movements weren’t restricted. She went to her chambers, rummaging in her trunk, looking for Needle. She had a feeling she might be needing it soon.

The entrance to the cells was guarded by two men. They bowed when they saw her coming, though she wasn’t sure they might recognize her in tunic and breeches.

“M’Lady. What brings you here at this hour?”

“Let me through. I wish to speak with the prisoner.”

“Afraid we can’t allow that, m’lady. Lady Stark has given us strict orders that no one must pass through these doors except her.”

She took a step closer, fingering Needle’s hilt. “I’m afraid you don’t understand. Your orders, which I just gave you, were to let me through.”

Confused, they looked at each other for a short moment before one of them unlocked the doors and waved her in.

“Please don’t tell Lady Stark.” One of them said.

She walked in, grabbing a torch from the sconce nearby. “I won’t.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion’s cell was at the end of the walkway. Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she walked towards his cell. She slowed her pace, afraid of what she might see. She hoped they hadn’t mistreated him.

“Rugen? Is that you?” his voice came from the corner. “Would you be so kind as to empty my chamber pot? It fucking stinks in here!”

It did. She covered her nose with her hands, walking up to the cell. She made out his silhouette, lying down on a stone slab, humming a tune.

“It’s good to see you’re still in high spirits.”

He jolted up, walking awkwardly to the bars as he came into the light. His beard had grown out and his clothes were tattered. She had never been more afraid of his mismatched eyes than she was now.

“What the hell did you do?”

She fumbled for words. There were a lot of things she had wanted to ask, but nothing came to mind at the moment. “Did you send the catspaw?”

He clutched the bars, grinding his teeth. “I suppose I have you to thank for this, right? What did you tell your mother? You told her about them, didn’t you? Why would you even do that? And as for your question, it wounds me that you would even ask me that.”

“You knew about it when it happened, though.” She said. “How he fell.”

He hesitated. “I had my doubts.”

“And you didn’t think to share these doubts with me?”

“What was I supposed to tell you? _Listen, my brother just tried to kill your brother. But I’m not sure about it, so don’t take any drastic measures, like telling your parents about it_. You see?”

She sat down. “You know, you’re awfully loyal for someone who just got left in the lurch by your own family.”

He chuckled. “So are you, for that matter.”

“If you didn’t send him, then who did?”

“My sister, probably. Only she would do something as stupid and dangerous as this. It’s definitely not Jaime. Say what you will of my brother, at least he’s honorable enough to clean up after himself.”

She spat on the floor. “You really shouldn’t use such words to describe the man who shoved my brother out a window. He made my brother a cripple. Bran will never walk again, despite what my mother thinks or hopes. He’ll get what’s coming to him. And so will your sister. This I swear to you.”

“All right.” He brushed it off. “So now you’re convinced that I didn’t do it? Or do you still have doubts?”

She didn’t respond to that. She needed to think of what she was going to do next. The next choice she made would have a lasting impact. So she had to be sure she knew what she was doing.

“There’s going to be a trial, isn’t there?”

“Probably. Mother doesn’t tell me much.”

“No doubt she’s going to find me guilty. The woman needs someone to blame. My siblings aren’t here, but she has the next best thing. She might have me executed, or just use me as a hostage. It could go either way. But I’m leaning on executed.”

“You do know that I didn’t turn you in, right?” she asked him.

He looked surprised. “No?”

She sighed. “It surprises me how little we know about each other, even though we spent eight years together.” _What I’m about to do now also surprises me._ “In the event there’s a trial, demand a trial by combat.” She said, standing up and dusting her clothes.

“Wait, what?” he stood up. “And who’s going to fight for me?”

“Just do as I say, dolt.” She said, leaning closer to the bars. “One more thing. If I find out that you lied to me, that you did have a hand in the attempt on my brother’s life, I’m going to slit your throat. But before I do that, I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life.”

She walked back to the entrance, leaving him there with his mouth hanging open.


End file.
